Sextilis

I was seven, somewhere inside that number.
My parents and a child-psychiatrist felt it was necessary to put me in a school for “special needs.”
I wasn’t retarded; I just wouldn’t fit in to normal society, I was an outcast, sort of broken.
This is where I met my best-friend ‘Joe Hurting’. He moved to the school shortly after I had been there, maybe a matter of months.
We clicked, because we were both as stupid as each other. We both suffered the dark humour syndrome, where we felt like there was always a funny side to something dreadful, and we found it, all the time. Whether it was death, violent crimes or any kind of sadistic shit, it was a way to survive.

So shortly after we pretty much became tighter than the noose in the rope that girl’s sister hung herself with.
That girl, her name was Charlene. She was strange, but I guess anyone would be after your sister hung herself and your mothers in a mental asylum.
Death stunk this school out, ninety percent of people reeked misery around the hallways, from dead relatives or something.
Every year, you could guarantee someone was going to kill them self. We’d pick people off and sometimes put bets on it. I bet she’s going to kill herself this month, she’s looking worse than normal, much worse.
“No” he’d say, “I bet Laura Whitehouse is going to top herself next July.”
Then we’d go into further details, discussing ways they’d do it, if they’re going to hang themselves, slit wrists, pills, razor blades, or even trains.
The scary thing was, every single time, one of us was right. We were never both wrong.
Eighty five percent of suicides in this school were female, even one of the teachers killed herself once. I guess if you’re around death long enough, it’s going to find you.
The most suicides there’s ever been in a year is three... three suicides, all girls.

So I moved to this school when I was seven years old, and now I’m sixteen, it’s my leaving year.
Thrilled isn’t the word. Ecstatic... still isn’t the word. There isn’t a word to describe it, the feeling of escaping death, and the best thing is Joe’s leaving at the same time as me; together we battled through the grim reapers minions. Laughing in the face of death literally saved us, weeks from now I’m going to be free.

I’m walking down one the hallways and I see this girl who’s so beautiful with long blonde hair brushing past her slender shoulders. Bright blue eyes that looked as blue as a clear sunny sky, looking a bit like what Dianna Agron would look like if she’d been in the dark for a week.
I knew right then, as soon as I saw her that I didn’t want her to kill herself.
Joe sees this girl and without hesitation whilst starring at her he says “This is her year. I’ve seen people walk through those doors looking like they’re in Disney land, and 2 years later topping themselves.”
The horrible thing was, I felt like he was right, I felt like it was her year, like she was going to hang herself or razor blade or something.
Never being wrong, that haunted me that day, there wasn’t a word to describe how hard I dropped. How low I felt. Maybe like falling from Heaven to Hell. I felt like Satan.



Even though we wouldn’t be at this school, we’d still know about it. Every year it’s a big deal that someone’s committed suicide again, a moment of silence for Lucy, Jane, Elizabeth, Claire, Robert, Jack.
I knew most of these people, if you could call pissing in the same room as them, speaking to them once every 6 weeks, mostly without a choice, if you could call that knowing them, then I knew these people, some of them.

This girl’s there with her parents talking to one of the teachers, whilst her parents seem like they’re trying to rush off, getting nearer and nearer to the door whilst they’re talking, the girl in the middle of them and the teacher. “We’ll take good care of your daughter, don’t worry.” The teacher, Mrs. Deer said. They weren’t worried, you could tell with the way they just wanted to leave.

I’m staring at this girl and Joe’s nudging me. I can only faintly hear what he’s saying, like background sound.
I could hear him asking me what month it is. I tell him “August.”
Almost the end of August and I’m thrilled, a few weeks before I’m free.
Then I could hear him saying, what could of been “He’s a bit soon.” Or “It’s a big broom.”
Still focused on this girl, I just tell him “Yeah.”

This girl has been left by herself just standing there with her petite skinny figure in the hallway clueless looking around for something, or someone. I’m asking myself if I should go over there, introduce myself, tell her how much she looks like the most beautiful version of death and I really want to have sex with her. I’d be the closest thing to a necrophiliac.
She’s wearing black high-tops, with tight jeans and a tatty cardigan, with a rucksack on her back.
If I had to guess I’d say she’s 5 ft 5.
Without a hundredth thought I do it, I go over to her and there’s so many thoughts running through my head, figuring out ways to greet her. I walk up to her, and before I could speak she says “Hi. I’m Jenna.” In a soft, gentle silky voice. She looks terrified, like if I touched her she’d break in to dust, that fragile.
There are thousands of people here and a lot of them you’ll never meet, it’s a big building.
“It’s Joey.” I say to her, “Just wondering if you’ve been here long?”
Her cheeks go blood red and she looks shy, “About a couple of minutes.” She says “You?”
I tell her how I came here when I was only seven, and then we spend 5 minutes talking and by this point I’ve convinced myself I’m in love with this girl. I’m asking her stupid questions, like “What do you think of the weather lately?” and “What music do you listen to?” In my head I just want to tell her not to kill herself. Please, please don’t kill yourself. I love you too much and you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen etc.
I hear Joe calling me from behind, so I tell her “I’ll catch you later.” It’s really what I wanted to do, to catch her. Then she brushes her fringe away from her blue eye, surrounded by a red ring as if she’d been crying, and looks up at me with those big blue eyes, looking like they’re ready to explode with tears. “Okay. Bye Joey.” She says. My heart melted. My penis did the complete opposite.









Most of these people, these victims of society, the ones who kill themselves don’t get put on suicide watch. You’ve really got to fail an attempt for people to realise you want to kill yourself. You tell somebody you’re going to kill yourself, they’ll say it’s a “cry for help” or you’re “attention seeking”, or they just don’t give a shit.
This girl, Jenna, you could tell her parents didn’t care for her. They looked like a middle-class couple ashamed of their daughter.
I watched as the father pushed the mother with his palm firmly around her ass, hurrying her towards the gateway entrance of the school.


A few months back I got the pleasure of finding the shell of Jane in the bathroom, with her wrist severed. I really needed to use the toilet, so I stepped over her body into the cubicle and took a long waited piss before telling anybody. Don’t get me wrong I was upset for this girl, but when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.
You could still hear her Ipod music playing through her headphones. Some death metal shit. I listened carefully to see if I could recognise the song. God forbid I should listen to suicide music.
After I’ve took my piss I had to kind of stand to the side of the sink to wash my hands, as she was lying under it which made it pretty awkward. Then I walked out the door to the nearest teacher which was Mrs. Widow, who was and still is totally hot by the way. She was wearing this black low cut blouse, which made her long blonde hair standout over the blackness, and fall over her pushed up D-cups. I walked up to her still adjusting my crotch, and put on my sad face and said “Jane Mcdowell just slit her wrists in the toilets.”
It was as easy as that. Seriously, I should be hired out to give people bad news. “Sorry Mr. Jefferson your son was found hanging in the basement of an abandoned house.”
“I wish I could put this any easier Mrs. Willcott, but your daughter, the one who I had sex with was found in a bathtub of blood with a giant gash on her left wrist.”
Don’t get me wrong, death is scary for me. I don’t want to die, but these people, they don’t want to live.
Who’s to say there’s no Heaven? Killing yourself in hope of something better is a risk, and life is all about taking risks, right?









I hated the idea of falling in love, having something to lose.
I’m sitting in my room thinking and regretting not asking for her phone number earlier today. I could have been lying on my back trying to kick my jeans from around my ankles with her silky voice whispering into my ear, telling me what I should have done to her today as I’m sliding my hand up and down my penis. I can just picture her petite little frame above me, her hips going back and forth as if she’s trying to riddle her way in to my soul, with her hands pinning mine down next to each side of my head. Her big blue eyes staring down at me, her jaw wide open with a mixture of pleasure and sadness on her face. This can’t be healthy for me. And now my penis is pushing against the denim of my jeans, telling me it wants to come out and play. Thinking about Jenna will never lead to good, but I can’t stop.





I’m waiting outside of the school for Jenna, lying on the path with my legs bent over the concrete step, and a cigarette between my lips with the ash bending off the tip, my eyes closed, listening for any footsteps.
Suddenly I see the light turn to darkness through my eyelids, and I open them. It’s Joe and he drops a twenty pound note on my chest. “You got lucky with that one.” He says.
I feel my stomach turn, my heart race and my Adams apple feel as if its swelling up in my throat. All as I begin to realise what Joe had said to me when I was stuck starring at Jenna for the first time.

The End.